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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930220">An Author And His Prose</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22'>QueenOfNewOrleans22</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mötley Crüe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Injury, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Fluff, M/M, Minor Violence, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Prostitution, Sexual Content, Slow Romance, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:20:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,873</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick Mars is an author, living a secluded life who spends most of his time pondering his loneliness. He doesn't have a wife, nor much in the way of a love life, and the reality of it all is beginning to crash down around him. </p><p>Nikki is homeless drug addict with a dark past and demons in his mind,, lonely in his own way, selling his body to buy the very drugs that keep him from losing his mind amongst the nightmare that is his life.</p><p>They're polar opposite in several ways, but upon several chance meetings, they begin to learn that, perhaps, they aren't so different after all, and that love can come from the most unlikely of places - and people.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mick Mars/Nikki Sixx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this.<br/>But here I am.<br/>Might as well get this out of the drafts while have the energy.<br/>I hope that I can write more chapters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mick had a nice little routine - he woke up, took a shower, ate breakfast while reading the newspaper, brushed his teeth, wrote a page or two, maybe three, ate dinner, watched television, did some light reading, and fell asleep. </p><p>It wasn't a particularly eventful routine, nor an original one, but it was the same routine that Mick had been living by for the past several years and had no real intention of changing it. Not anytime soon, anyways. Mick was perfectly content with his life, although he sometimes found himself having a crisis with that inner voice in his head that always told him that he was wasting away. </p><p>"I'm not wasting away." Mick muttered. "I am perfectly happy, because this is the life that I've always wanted to live, and I have no intention of changing it now or ever." He was firm in that decision, and believed that he always would be. </p><p>After all, what was Mick supposed to do? He was older, and the reality of so many things were crashing down around him like a house of cards that had been left to fall down under the howling wind. </p><p>"Whatever you say, Dad." Les said in an exasperated tone, rolling his eyes. </p><p>Try as he might to ignore the implications of what Les was trying to say, Mick just couldn't, and he turned away from the stove, frowning. "What is that supposed to mean?" He asked, unsure of whether or not to be offended or if it was best to just ignore it. </p><p>Les looked up from his phone. "You're not happy." He said, as if it was all that simple. </p><p>"Yes, I am." Mick insisted, beginning to feel a little irritated with having to defend himself. "I'm the happiest that I've ever been." </p><p>"<em>Noo, </em>you're not." Les was evidently determined to prove his point, and he set down his phone, as if to prove that fact. "Dad, you're lonely. You spend all day by yourself, doing that stupid little routine of yours. Stormy and Erik and I are the only people you hang out with." </p><p>Mick narrowed his eyes. "That is not true." He said. </p><p>"Oh, yeah?" Les smirked, raising his eyebrows. "Prove it." </p><p>A moment passed, perhaps two, of silence. </p><p>"Um." Mick hated this conversation was going, and grimaced at how he was entertaining it. "That - oh, fine. I'm just not a very social person, Les. You can't change that." </p><p>"I'm not trying to change that, Dad. I'm just trying to get you to be happy." Les sighed. "You're lonely, and I don't like it." </p><p>Mick rolled his eyes. "But I'm fine being alone." </p><p>"Alright. You keep lying to yourself, I'm just gonna go." Les stood up, but then he paused, and something seemed to break in his face. "Dad, I love you, and all I want is for you to be - I dunno, happy. I don't think you've ever been happy in your life." </p><p>"That's also not true." Mick said. "I was happy when you kids were born." </p><p>"That's different." Les said, pulling his father into a tight hug. "I know that you hate it when I poke my nose in your life, but you know that I'm only doing it because I want you to be happy." </p><p>Mick hugged him back, wishing that he could just make his kids happy. That's all that had ever mattered, after all, but now that he was alone, it was getting harder and harder to achieve that goal. "I know." He said. "But I'm okay, I really am." </p><p>But then Les left, and Mick was back to his lonely little house with his lonely little life, and he became suddenly, terrible aware of how truly alone he really was.</p><p>After two failed marriages and several failed relationships, Mick had punished himself with solitude, devoting his time to his three kids and diving into work, hoping that the rest would just work itself out. Mick had never been lucky with love, a fact that was punctuated every time he rolled over in bed and there was nobody there. </p><p>Was Mick upset by his lack of a love life? That was hard to say, because Mick loved his alone time, but he hated it at the same time, when the silence became too much to ignore, and he was left to deal with the daily aches and pains alone.</p><p>Mick sighed as he poured his soup into a bowl, and watched as the smoke rose up towards the ceiling in a large plume. He was getting older, and starting to fully realize what it was like to wake up in the middle of the night, cold, but not have anybody warm to cling to. "This is getting pathetic." He whispered. </p><p>This wasn't the time to start getting sappy about romance, because Mick was already busy with enough things without getting involved with love. </p><p>But when Mick sat down at the table, it was to silence, with nobody to talk to because all of his kids were living their lives and he was stuck, a lonely old man with nothing to do. He took a mouthful of his steaming hot soup, a little pain to distract himself from the inevitability of life. </p><p>Mick didn't want to die alone, but he also didn't want to condemn someone to rot alongside him as his scoliosis progressively got worse. And that, perhaps, was the reason that he resisted every and any attempt by his children to get him to go on a date. Mick knew that he would never be the guy that somebody wanted, but it would never stop hurting as the realization sunk in. </p><p>                             ----------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>The next day came without warning, and not much could be said about it - not at first, anyways. </p><p>As always, Mick got up with a wince and a groan, and then he sat on the edge of the bed, panting as his hip throbbed in pain. A small part of him knew, and acknowledged that a surgery would have to happen one of these days, but Mick didn't want to face that reality just yet. </p><p>He showered, enjoying the feeling of hot water on the growing aches in his body that never seemed to go away, and then made himself a breakfast of buttered toast. Mick ate it slowly, reading the morning newspaper with growing boredom until there was nothing but crumbs on his plate, and then he stood up, washed his plate, and then brushed his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror despite his better half saying 'no' because he always ended up feeling so stupidly inferior afterwards. </p><p>Mick knew that he'd never been the most attractive person, nor would he ever, but there was something about the paleness of his skin and the angles of his face that made Mick want to slam his fist in the mirror, just so he could walk away and not be reminded of that man, the one who would've had so much potential. </p><p>"Stop it." He whispered, voice shaking, determined. "This isn't worth it." </p><p>But yet, there he remained, standing in front of the mirror, unable to tear his eyes away from the hopeless man that he truly was. Mick wasn't a particularly insecure person, but the sight was enough to make him wish that hed been born differently. Scoliosis be damned - Mick would live with that. But something, <em>anything, </em>else, besides the fact that stared back. </p><p>"I'm too old for this." Mick said to himself, shaking his head ruefully at his own idiocy, knowing that it would never stop. </p><p>Mick lived a relatively excluded life, living in a house that sat between rows and rows of tall, thick trees. His closest neighbor lived beyond that tree line, and always seemed to be hosting parties, judging by the music that always was sounding from that area, but Mick didn't complain until it began to interupt his quiet time. </p><p>His life was comfortable, a fact that was proved each and every day. </p><p>There was never any worry about bills, because Mick had already managed to make a living by writing books. In the timespan between his first marriage and when Stormy had gone off to college, Mick had penned a series of successful thriller novels, and was now living off of his pension from those books. </p><p>This was both a win-and-lose situation, because Mick was now stuck living a rather boring life. He was currently trying to write a prequel installation for the series, but it really wasn't working out as intended. </p><p>The phone was ringing, and Mick abandoned the mirror, glad at the interruption as he made his way into the living room. He picked up the phone and pressed it against his ear. "Hello?" He said. </p><p>"Hi, Mick." Sharon said. "How are you?" </p><p>Mick grimaced, but it was only in reserves - this is what he got for marrying, and later divorcing, his agent. "I'm fine. And you?" He asked. </p><p>"I'm well. I was just wondering if you wanted to meet up, discuss that book of yours." Sharon said. </p><p>For some reason, the words caused a sinking feeling to appear in Mick's stomach. "Alright. Where would you like?" He asked. </p><p>Sharon hummed. "How about that restaurant on corner street?" She asked. </p><p>"Sounds nice. Give me an hour." Mick said, quickly jotting down the address on his notebook. </p><p>"I'll see you then." Sharon said, and she hung up, plunging Mick back into silence.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mick wasn't about to lie - he took his sweet time getting dressed, painstakingly pulling on his coat to ward off the early winter chill, shuffling instead of walking and spending way more time than he should've when it came to making his hair look manageable, but when thirty minutes had passed, Mick had to take a deep breathe and grab his keys to face the inevitable. </p><p>If he would've had any say or choice in the matter, Mick would've stopped talking to Sharon straight after the divorce, but she was, after all, his agent, and it was hard to find a good agent nowadays, anyways. In hindsight, Mick knew that the marriage had been a loveless one. Sharon was pretty and intelligent, and Mick had been lonely, and they'd jumped into a matrimony without a second thought. </p><p>Everybody had been against it - their family, their friends, but Mick hadn't listened, and in the end, he's been left nursing a broken heart with three kids. The divorce hadn't quite been amicable, and Mick suspected that they were both still harboring bad feelings toward each other, but such things would hopefully never come to light. </p><p>Stepping outside, Mick squinted as the sun peeked out from beyond the clouds and cast its unpleasant glow onto the world below. Despite this, there was a chill that lingered, biting into Mick's skin like tiny insects. He shivered slightly, wrapping his arms around his torso, hands clenching even as the sharp part of the keys that he was holding bit into his hand. </p><p>One of his neighbors was outside, visible just beyond the tree line, trimming his bushes. Mick didn't know much about the guy - he lived with his parents, owned a Lamborghini, and threw parties when his parents were on vacation. However, the music never really bothered Mick because he never really heard it, and so he bit his tongue and never said anything. </p><p>The neighbor didn't look up, his blonde hair obscuring most of his face as he guided a pair of trimmers above the greenery, seemingly too concentrated on the task at hand to notice anything else. </p><p>Mick lived in a small Californian town that was just off of LA, which was where he'd raised the kids, and where Sharon lived. It was peaceful and quiet and there was never really any trouble, which worked just fine for Mick, who had never really been fond of noise. </p><p>The restaurant in question was a small little hotspot in the corner of town that often was the spot for dates and anniversaries. Mick had a strange sense of foreboding suddenly appear - he didn't know why. Sharon had always intimidated him, which was pathetic and just wrong, but considering how much creative power she held over Mick, perhaps it wasn't so ridiculous. </p><p>A small part of Mick wanted to just fire her and proceed with the painstaking process of finding another agent, but as he pulled into the parking lot, it became very clear that he couldn't quite rid his life of Sharon, who was standing by her car, leaning against it casually. </p><p>Mick shut off the ignition, fighting past the temptation to sit in the car for a moment more, and just stepped back out into the bitterly cold air, which had only increased during the drive. "Hi." He said, shutting the car door and walking toward slowly. </p><p>"Hey there." Sharon said, smiling slightly. "I haven't seen you in awhile." She pulled her sweater around tighter and seemed to examine Mick with her all-knowing, calculating gaze. </p><p>"I've been busy." Mick replied, unsure if it was a lie or not. </p><p>Sharon laughed. "Sure. C'mon, let's get inside. It's freezing out here." </p><p>For a moment, and that single moment, Mick considered getting back into the car and just driving away, but he followed Sharon inside instead, pleased when a gust of warm air welcomed him. The lighting was dim, and it was hard to see. Mick wondered why Sharon had chosen such a place, especially considering their history together. </p><p>Mick frowned. "So, we were gonna talk about the book?" He said after being led to their table and sitting down, sipping his ice water and shifting uncomfortably, feeling rather awkward. </p><p>"Well, we are, but first, I've been noticing some things about Les, and decided to bring it up to you, since you're his father and all." Sharon paused. "We have to keep some sense of being cordial after all." </p><p>"What's wrong with Les?" Mick felt a lurch of suspicion, his eyebrows furrowing in simultaneous concern and uncertainty, all thoughts of the book disappearing. </p><p>"The thing is that - he's been neglecting his studies." Sharon said. </p><p>"What?" Mick wasn't sure if there was something he was missing or not. </p><p>Sharon sighed, and her shoulders slumped, as if the world had just collapsed onto her. "He's been studying, you know this, to be a doctor, and I've noticed that he hasn't been involved in his studies like he should be." She bit her bottom lip, as if in hesitation. "I think that he's gotten involved in drugs " </p><p>A moment passed, fragile and uncertain, confusion that was punctuated by the sound of the people around them talking. </p><p>Mick almost laughed. "What mental gymnastics did you perform to come to <em>that </em>conclusion?" He asked, shaking his head. Les was the least likely of their kids to get into drugs, but Mick didn't want to tell Sharon that - lord knows that it'd only worsen her panic. </p><p>"Maybe if you paid a little more attention to them and actually cared to look for the signs, you would see what I mean." Sharon snapped. </p><p>The words felt like ice to Mick's bones, and he scowled, standing up and nearly sending his water flying. "I'll be right back." He said with feigned calmness, turning and walking away, making his way past the severs and ducking out the side exit. </p><p>Mick stepped out into the alleyway with a sigh, digging into his pockets and pulling out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and stared, looking around at the piles of trash that littered the alleyway, at the darkness that shielded any and all light from piercing through, and then at a slender body that was standing in front of the dumpster. </p><p>Pausing, Mick froze as he went to put his lighter back into his pocket, suddenly unsure of his position. </p><p>The person - man - was rooting through the dumpster, standing on a few boxes for added leverage. All Mick could see was a tangled mess of black hair and a too-thin body, dressed entirely in black. </p><p>Homeless people weren't exactly common town. Mick knew that there were some transients from LA, though, so he couldn't be completely surprised. </p><p>A moment went by, and his presence must've been noted by the man, because suddenly, he turned and stared at Mick, his hands still in the dumpster, where they presumably held whatever dinner he would be eating. </p><p>Mick raised his hands, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and tossing it onto the ground before stomping it out with his shoe.</p><p>There was a distinct tension in air that was so thick it was nearly impossible to breathe. Mick backed away and opened the door, but the man didn't turn away, not until the door was completely shut as Mick ducked back inside of the restaurant. </p><p>Sharon was still at the table, looking through her phone, and Mick looked at her, wondering why he'd even married her in the first place. He thought that he'd lover her, but it was nothing. She hadn't cared either - the idea of even having stayed for the kids seemed stupid, in hindsight. </p><p>It had been a marriage of convenience, after all. </p><p>He left the restaurant without looking back. </p>
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